


Poison

by irisdouglasiana



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, enemies to lovers (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25148821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisdouglasiana/pseuds/irisdouglasiana
Summary: The silence unwinds between them. For a moment, the only sound Brida can hear is her own breathing and the clink of the chains when Skade shifts her weight. In the moonlight, her hair takes on a silvery sheen and her pale eyes glow.No wonder that men have made fools of themselves over you,she thinks.But you’ll not make a fool out of me.
Relationships: Brida (The Last Kingdom)/Skade (The Last Kingdom)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	Poison

After Cnut has finally gotten what he wanted from her and falls asleep in her bed, Brida quietly pulls on her clothes and goes down to the river to wash her face. The night is cold and she shivers as she splashes the icy water on her skin and hair, trying to rid herself of his smell. He is not so bad, she tells herself: other men could be far worse, and at any rate, what choice does she have now that Ragnar is gone? Better to give in now than wait for him to take his pleasure whenever he decides.

“Did Cnut not satisfy you? I suppose I am not surprised.”

She whips her head around to see the witch standing there behind her—even with the chains on her ankles, Brida did not hear her approach. She stands up and gives Skade a hard look. “Does Haesten know you are here?”

The witch shrugs. “He is sleeping in his tent and I have seen to it that he will not wake for a long time. I may be his woman for now, but he does not own me.”

“You do not intend to be his woman for long.”

Skade bows her head in acknowledgment. “None of these men are worthy,” she says softly, taking a step forward. “None of them are capable of defeating Alfred. You know this as well as I do.”

Brida crosses her arms. “I’m not interested in your tricks,” she tells her shortly. “Go back to Haesten’s bed and leave me in peace.”

The witch grins and tilts her head to the side, and for some reason, Brida’s eyes are drawn straight to the tattoo on her lower lip and chin. “Are you jealous?”

“Of you?” Brida scoffs. “If you think I want to be slobbered over by Sigurd or Haesten, then you are stupider than I thought.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

The silence unwinds between them, and for a moment, the only sound Brida can hear is her own breathing and the clink of the chains when Skade shifts her weight. In the moonlight, her hair takes on a silvery sheen and her pale eyes glow. _No wonder that men have made fools of themselves over you_ , she thinks. _But you’ll not make a fool out of me._

“Sigurd is not the only one who likes to look,” the witch says, amused. She takes one step more, and then another, until she is close enough for Brida to reach out and touch her. “Ask your question, Brida. Ask me about Ragnar.”

“Don’t you dare speak his name.” Her voice comes out raw, tinged with grief. She knows she should not allow the witch to rile her like this; she should not take the bait, but at the same time she cannot stop herself. In her head she still sees Ragnar lying dead in his tent with his eyes fixed towards the sky, his cold fingers unable to grasp the hilt of his sword. “Who killed him? You must have seen it.”

Skade shakes her head. “All I know is that his murderer is not far away.”

“How useless you are, witch,” Brida sneers. “There are hundreds of men in this camp. I could have told you that.”

A malicious smirk spreads across Skade’s face. “I have not seen Ragnar’s killer, but I have seen your lover wandering Niflheim, naked and shivering, crying out your name.”

Brida’s knife is in her hand before she realizes it, the tip pressed up against the hollow of Skade’s neck. “Speak another word and I will kill you gladly,” she hisses.

If the witch is afraid, she does not show it—instead her smile grows even wider. “Oh, Brida. I don’t think want me dead,” she purrs. “I don’t even think you want my silence. I think you want to _ruin_ me.”

With a jolt, Brida realizes that Skade’s fingers are creeping up her thighs—how had she not noticed? With her left hand she roughly shoves the witch’s fingers away while keeping her knife steady on her neck. “You know nothing of what I want,” she snaps.

The smile abruptly fades from Skade’s face, and all at once Brida can feel her own face getting warm. Slowly, tentatively, Skade reaches out and wraps her hands around Brida’s. Her palm around the knife handle is slick with sweat; her heart is beating so loudly in her chest that she is certain the witch must hear it somehow. The witch lets her nails dig in ever so slightly before pulling her even closer and allowing the tip of the knife to break her skin. A thin trickle of blood runs down the witch’s neck and disappears between her breasts, and Brida involuntarily lets out a small gasp.

“Brida,” the witch says. “I know what _I_ want.” With her hands still clasped tightly around Brida’s, she draws the knife downward, sawing through the fabric of her dress, and, well—Brida has to admit that Jackdaw was not wrong; her tits are very nice indeed. Before she knows it, the knife is on the ground and her lips are pressed up against Skade’s. The witch tastes of salt and sweat; underneath it there is a slight sourness, a hint of something she cannot name.

“Stupid witch,” she breathes after she pulls away. “You’ve cut apart your own dress. What will you tell Haesten?”

Without looking away, Skade touches the wound left by Brida’s knife and then brings her fingers up to Brida’s lips. “I don’t wish to be Haesten’s woman any more than you wish to be Cnut’s,” she says softly. “Why give him the army you built with Ragnar? Is it not yours by right?”

Brida licks her lips and tastes Skade’s blood on her tongue. There is something intoxicating about it, something that makes her head spin. “I have already promised these men to Cnut,” she tells her. “You are even more of a fool than I thought you were if you think they would follow a woman for long.”

Undeterred, Skade takes her hand and draws it to her bare chest, guiding her fingers around the underside of her breasts. “Perhaps they would not follow you alone. But with me at your side…”

Brida’s breath quickens. She cannot pull her hand away or stop staring. “And what of Cnut and Haesten? What about Sigurd?” she asks, trying to focus on what the witch is proposing.

“You have seen how Haesten goads Sigurd,” Skade answers smoothly, though she lets out a stifled whimper when Brida’s hand grazes one of her nipples. “They will fight and one will die. It will happen very soon. And then the last two will kill each other.”

“And after that?”

Her eyes glitter in the darkness. “And then you will take the army and destroy Alfred, and I will be at your side. As your woman, if you like. We will rule all.”

“You’re mad,” Brida whispers, but desire is clouding her mind; part of her wants to take Skade right then and there, to see her stretched out naked in the moonlight, to make her cry out. Even though the night is cold she is hot under her clothes, sweat dripping down her back. How good it would feel to strip them off and to throw everything else away! Her thoughts go to Uhtred, breaking his promise and racing off to rescue his princess, and to Ragnar, dying with another woman at his side and roaming Niflheim empty-handed: both of them have abandoned her to Cnut, who now lies snoring and sated in her tent.

“You are so angry,” Skade says quietly, her hands sliding down Brida’s waist. “I think you have been angry for a very long time.”

Brida closes her eyes for a moment. “You are poison,” she replies. “I knew that when I first saw you. You use men and discard them when they are no longer useful.”

“And when I first saw you, you stank of a curse, though not anymore.” Skade’s hands travel gently down Brida’s hips, but there is something hard in her gaze. “How many women do you think these same men have discarded? Do you know their names? Their faces? If I am poison, those men are too.”

“Enough,” Brida orders as Skade slides her hands between her legs. She bites back a moan of pleasure before finally pushing her hand away and stepping back. She is not about to lose her head to the witch like Sigurd and Haesten. “You don’t care about anybody but yourself. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

Skade pouts but does not argue. She tugs at the fabric of her dress to cover herself, her disappointment plain. “All I am offering you is a choice,” she says. “If you wish, you can go back to Cnut and I will go back to Haesten and we will never speak of this again.”

She gives Skade a hard stare before picking up her knife from where she dropped it. By now the moon has come out in full, bathing the witch in light and casting a long dark shadow behind her. It makes her look younger—not much more than a girl after all. “How desperate you must be,” Brida says slowly. “I almost feel sorry for you.”

Skade does not answer. She lifts her head and returns her gaze, defiant and angry.

Brida lets out a sigh. “Sit,” she says, and after a moment, Skade obeys. She kneels down beside her and begins prying at the shackles around her ankles with her knife. “At least you have the sense to not threaten me with curses,” she tells her. “Otherwise I would have sent you back to Haesten without question.”

Skade frowns in confusion, and Brida can’t help but laugh. “I like you better when you don’t talk, witch.”

“I could say the same for you, bitch,” Skade snaps, but there is no real edge to her words. She makes a small relieved noise as the chain breaks.

“You can just say ‘thank you.’ It’s not difficult.”

Skade stares at her as though she has just been told to say her paternoster. “Thank you,” she finally mutters in the most ungrateful tone Brida has ever heard.

“See, that wasn’t so terrible, was it?” She plops down on the grass next to Skade. “The most important thing to me right now is revenge. Cnut would have me believe Ragnar was killed by the woman, but I know there is more to it than that. Help me find his murderer, and I will help you. Do you agree?”

“I do,” Skade answers without hesitation.

“Good,” Brida says. She stands up, brushes the dirt from her clothes, and makes ready to leave.

“I have just one condition,” Skade calls after her.

Brida turns around. “Oh?”

Skade grins. “Kiss me again.”


End file.
